


Ere the Nightingales cry

by Rhapsody the Bard (Rhapsody)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhapsody/pseuds/Rhapsody%20the%20Bard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her husband is slain, Melian returns to Valinor and finds that even her home of old has been marred...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ere the Nightingales cry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solanaceae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/gifts).



> Solanaceae requested the following: A femslash story involving any plausible pairing of Silmarillion ladies (I'm partial to Míriel/Indis, Lúthien/Thuringwethil, Aredhel/Elenwë, and Nellas/Niënor, but I really do mean ANY plausible pairing, so whatever you want to write is great!).
> 
> Story elements = Basically anything goes for the femslash. Something that takes into account anything political/war-related going on would be great. Fluff, angst, whatever you give me I will love.
> 
> Rating up to R.
> 
> I am indebted to Ignoblebard who stepped up the plate to edit my story, thank you for your great suggestions and feedback.

_One word_

_Frees us of all the weight and pain of life:_

_That word is love._

SOPHOCLES, Oedipus at Colonus

 

 

 

**Ere the Nightingales cry**

 

‘I once ruled my own realm. Once, a powerful word for all that I have left behind. My now mortal daughter and her spouse have to carry on our legacy.’ The jewel would be safe in their hands and Melian hoped that it would not corrupt them as it slowly had turned her husband away from her. There was not much left of her might once he had fallen at the Dwarves cruel hands, their love blown upon the northern wind that had swept through the wrecked halls of their palace as if he would dare to mock her folly. Once, her spells had been enough to even keep the dark Ungoliant at bay, but she had felt empty and forsaken. And she felt forsaken now here upon the road towards Lórien, her former home.

None had recognised her on the way here, for who would have paid attention to a cloaked elven woman who relied heavily on her walking stick? She had forgotten that the road to travel would be long for one who could no longer shape shift into a more convenient form. When she still could take her companion’s forms these distances would not have been a burden. Yet she had committed herself to her love and Arda with the knowledge that there would be no turning back after her daughter was born.

There had been plenty of opportunity for her to make arrangements for a cart and horse as so many did when they were permitted to return home here on Aman. On the ship that bore her here she simply remained standing in the aft, her eyes fixed on the horizon as her beloved Beleriand disappeared out of sight. Then she still felt strong at first, but as the ship carried her away from the eastern shores she felt how she slowly lost connection to the lands she once bound herself to.

Her nightingales had not dared to follow her, and even some of the brave gulls abandoned her, until her ears were filled only with the sound of the sloshing waves. At first it didn’t bother her too much, but after weeks at sea the sound of the bow cutting through the water and the listlessness of her fellow shipmates made her feel restless. Even though they could never compare to the gentle trills of her beloved nightingales, the first thin cry of a gull felt as a blessing.

Now a cry of a kestrel cut through the air and she followed its path through the blue sky above the golden fields of Yavanna. Looking around, she found a rock to rest upon next to the sandy road and settled down to watch the how the bird hovered, awaiting its chance to swoop down. Its jess told her that a falconer must be nearby and she felt glad to know that she was not alone on these massive plains. It felt good to sit down for a while. From her satchel she retrieved a bite of Lembas bread. Long ago she taught the elves here how to make it and now it sustained her properly during this last leg of her journey. The bird still hung in the air, biding its time with its wings spread and his tail dipped low, its sharp eyes scanning the ground.

Melian watched how the bird dipped briefly, hovering for a brief second, then suddenly rocketed down. It had found its prey, perhaps a tiny rodent.So much had changed here, she reflected. Of course she had heard the fate of the two trees she once tended: the impact of Arien’s and Tilion’s journey would have the same effect as it had in her lands. Different shadows, the changes within the vegetation and wild life: the shifts in their cycles as it were forced to adjust to the two orbits in the sky. How would Lórien look now, she wondered?

There could be no further delay, perhaps she was a day away from it on foot. She decided that she must press on and leaned heavily on her staff as she regained her footing. Briefly she scanned the sky and smiled when she saw how the raptor took to the air once more. Of course she could sit there all day, take more rest, but it would not help her shake off this fatigue she felt in her body. It was for the best to keep on moving.

The fields of gold seemed to roll on to the horizon, its tops swaying gently in the breeze. Suddenly, a neigh interrupted her thoughts. Pausing to determine where it had come from, Melian suddenly spotted how the wheat heads alternately rose and fell along an imaginary line across the field: someone was coming. Maybe she did not have to walk that long after all.

She paused and waited for the falconer to emerge, overthinking what she possibly could say to him. Taking its time, minutes later a tall horse and its rider emerged from the golden plain, stepping out onto a broad and dusty road. It was then she discovered, much to her surprise, that the falconer was a stern female who dipped her head slightly upon seeing her. Melian studied her and quickly determined that the raven black hair and grey eyes told her that one of the Noldorin ladies had taken a fancy to become one of Oromë’s apprentices. And why not? She thought to herself.

‘Milady, you have chosen an unfortunate day to travel on foot for the sun is quite warm.’ Melian simply stood there, drinking in the language she had not heard for so long and she fumbled for words to reply to the kind greeting. It just had been too long.

‘Forgive me, you must be thirsty,’ the lady continued and dismounted quickly after she had allowed her kestrel to take to the skies again. Before she knew it, Melian held a drinking skin in her hands while her kind benefactor searched through one of her saddle bags.

‘I am fine, but thank you nonetheless for this.’ The former queen finally answered.

‘You are most welcome, yet if I may be so bold, you are not from these lands?’

Melian smiled at the quick assumption. ‘I once came from here and I have returned. How may I thank you? My lady …’

‘Sívilwë. Ai, forgive me, for I looked upon you and noticed how thirsty you must have felt. Where are my manners, my mother would feel much ashamed of me. Not that she would learn of this, of course…’ From her bags Sívilwë retrieved a piece of fabric and handed it to her. ‘You might need this later today when the sun has reached its summit. You may keep the skin as well; it should sustain you until you reach Tirion later this afternoon,’ she quickly added.

‘Thank you for this, but my journey takes me away from your city. My destination, for now, is the gardens of Lórien.’

‘Then you will need more and probably would welcome a ride there? It will take us a little over three hours or so.’ Sívilwë’s face opened to her with a generous smile.

‘You are a blessing sent to me, Sívilwë. Yes I gladly will take you up on your offer if it will not hinder you too much?’

~*~

The gates of Lórien were still the same, or were they? Melian tried hard to remember how the shadows once had fallen. Her hand rose to touch the bushes, a different bush surely than even as it once was. Of course, it would be more logical now that the source of light had changed from stationary to a moving one. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought how the slaying of her beloved trees had cast a deep shadow even over this garden. ‘I would have loved it,’ she mused, ‘as much as I loved exploring the shadowed lands across the seas. Yet the cost. Oh the price all had paid.’

Briefly, before she had parted ways with the kind Sívilwë, who in the few hours they spent together on horseback had informed her of the fate of Aman’s avifauna and her role in how they had tried to restore it after the trees had been slain. There were still many questions left unasked for her and once the falconer had continued her journey, Melian realised that she should have thanked her for shouldering such a huge responsibility. Still, she could feel no guilt for helping her people and some of the Maiar here; it was not as if she had borne the brunt of it in her own realm.

Could she enter? Was she allowed to return and lay her grief at the feet of her beloved Estë? So much had happened since she closed these gates behind her leaving all behind that she knew. Regrets, sure, she still had them, but she knew that if she had not left her life would have been poorer, no matter how deep the wounds of her soul now felt.

Yet, something was still missing. Melian fidgeted and lowered the cowl of her hood to listen more carefully. Sívilwë had omitted some of the species surviving, but which ones Melian had not asked. As she closed her eyes, she concentrated on picking apart the chirps, whistles, and trills that echoed about the garden of Lórien. There was the wren with its sweet whistles, descending slowly as it sang to her, in the background she heard a sparrow chipping as a warbler’s song rose over it as if it wanted to announce its presence to her. Of course she must wait for the night to hear the nightingale sing; tempted as she now felt to call out to them. No, it was better to wait for the sun to set and rise again: and judging Arien’s course it would take some hours still for her to relinquish the skies to Tilion.

Melian wondered if Aman’s nightingales would still remember her song, and to be frank, after her long journey she longed to be surrounded by its powerful song. It was too soon, even for her she decided, and she stepped back from Lórien’s gate. Where else could she go now then? Niënna’s halls would be half a day away from here, or she could turn back and journey across Yavanna’s fields to Oromë’s halls, if only she were not so tired and the road not so empty and lonely. What she did know was that she was not ready to return to Estë yet, but facing Vána also had no appeal to her. She had abandoned both long ago without an explanation and the last thing she wanted now was to fall upon her knees and ask them forgiveness for her trespasses made so many _yéni_ ago.

Estë knew her, and perhaps it was for the best to put this all behind her. With a firm resolve, she opened the gate and quickly stepped through it. Once she passed the gazebo that gave way to the great garden behind, she had to pause to drink in the vista presented to her. She found it sweet beyond words. The garden would, of course, be at the height of summer and Melian drank in the sight of a multitude of flowers that she did not know the names of. It was not only that, beyond the frail scent of apple blossoms, she spotted small gateways to a few mazes, a few benches littered aside the small pathways that all seemed so inviting to her. Change had even fallen upon these gardens and she liked it.

Slowly she walked, her mind filled with quiet happiness, and her hand touched the flowers whose gentle heads seemed to sway towards her. Melian felt as if the garden welcomed her, the long lost daughter who had returned to the cradle of the flora. Even if it would be a short moment, she grasped this moment while she still could. Even her worn down dress felt like a ball gown here and her aching fingers unfastened the cloak that had hid her identity for those who still might remember her. It would not matter here, here she could be herself again. Why had she denied herself this joy only moments before? This was her moment. Melian wandered among the grassy paths, looking at the flowers, stooping now and then to lift their heads in her hands. Once she brought her nose to the rich lavender and her fingertips skimmed the valerian before she moved to the open roses and carnations whose scents dominated the air. There were fountains where the silvery sound of falling water sounded against the wet foliage that grew close to the basins. Melian was studying the designs on them when the lady touched her on the shoulder. The sounds of the garden diminished as she turned around to meet Estë's kind brown eyes. It was undeniable: that sudden sense of chill and the feeling of discomfiture that washed over her. Even though both had not uttered a word, the tension seemed to loom between them, making their unspoken hurt so tangible.

'So you have returned to us.'

It was always us, not her or him: always us as if her position between them was already decided upon. Long she had wondered if she had mistaken Estë’s intent, but when she stood so close to her now, Melian knew she had not. The feeling of a pre-destined path, being cast into a mould of servitude was what had made her run.

‘I would not be too sure of that,’ Melian replied more sharply than she intended.

‘Then why have you come here? This is home as well.’ Ah, such words that exactly described the moment, calculated perhaps. Yet Melian knew that there was truth in it.

‘A home that we can share _freely_. It has changed so much.’

‘Yes, we have made the necessary changes here. The darkness that was cast upon us forced us to renew, so why not do it thoroughly?’ Estë stepped away from her, her slender fingers trailed the rim of the basin casually, but Melian was not fooled by it.

‘So I was told a moment hence. Without light nothing could grow, and the scarce air available made nature act, eliminating the weak.’

‘You have been well informed,’ Estë paused and her earnest eyes met Melian’s. ‘We made concessions, surely. Arda was marred and Aman tainted. What you see here has taken generations to recover. I am glad it pleases you.’

‘I feel glad that I have returned to beauty where I left my own realm in chaos and destruction,’ she whispered, fighting down the unbidden tears and pain that tried to pierce through her shell of firm resolve.

‘You may rest here; I do not expect you to fulfil your previous tasks. Many of the elven queens have come to the gardens for rest and recovery when their losses have torn them down. Yet, I cannot say if you are allowed to reside here permanently for not all our arts can heal your wounds.’ Estë offered her a kind smile, ‘Yet I know that some do need your guidance and presence. I hope that may bring salvation for you.’

~*~

‘No No no! You can send this lady from whatever house away from here. I am so through with these dames coming here claiming that they can match Luthien’s song so that they can finally bring back the nightingale’s song!’ It was quite obvious that Sívilwë was not amused by her request; Melian pressed her knuckles against her lips to stifle laughter. ‘… They really never will get it? It was already hard enough to rear these fledglings in the dark, let alone to discover that no mature birds were left to teach them Melian’s song. I really do not care Aiwendil, deal with this as it pleases you, but none will come near the Nightingale aviary.’ A door was slammed and seconds later Aiwendil’s head cautiously looked around the corner. It was then when she could no longer hold back her laughter and he waited patiently for her to finish.

‘I warned you, she is one of the…’

‘Noldo kind, I know. Artanis had a resolve like hers. But she is committed and passionate; I understand why she would be so protective.’ Melian rose to her feet and straightened her dress. By now the idyllic paintings on the walls had been more enough to bear. How much did the people here know what happened across the ocean? ‘She will remember me.’

‘Well, if you must. You are aware that she doesn’t know who you actually are?’

‘Do you think it would matter that much?’ Both said nothing, and Melian gently patted her old friend on his shoulder. ‘Beyond this door, I will have to turn…’

‘Right, you will have to pass two aviaries with Merlin’s and Peregrine Falcons. Sívilwë is training them for those nobles who fancy themselves as hunters,’ Aiwendil winked, ‘betimes after a few minstrels have sung their songs of Oromë’s hunters she wants to lock down this place because they get ideas in their heads. And as it happens, the lady Anairë hosted a fete last night.’

‘And she thinks that I am one of those noblewomen present. Ai, if there is one thing I will not host again… Thank you my friend, it will be fine.’ Both Maiar bowed their heads in mutual respect and she waited for Aiwendil to leave before she opened the door that gave way to a small courtyard with practical stone slabs: there were only two gates at either the right or the left, but in front of the wall on the opposite of her stood a marble bench sided with two cypress trees. Sívilwë’s manor was efficiently designed for a large family, but so far she had not encountered servants to match this impression. Granted, she did not know much about Sívilwë’s family and had not enquired about it as well. Once she pushed the right gate open, Melian held her breath for she was immediately welcomed with merry birds who energetically hopped from branch to branch in the lush garden where a diverse habitat of ground covers, shrubs and trees was a pleasurable sight to behold. Aiwendil had mentioned aviaries, but as she walked down the path, Melian found it hard to discern them from plain sight. It was no wonder why Aiwendil had chosen this place to abide: it was a paradise for birds.

The first flight pen she encountered was massive, even though Melian did not like the thought of birds being held captive; she also understood that apparently there was a need for these trained creatures. What she did not expect was her reaction to the Nightingales. When she had left this realm, no nightingale could have resisted greeting her in song. Now she saw a few couples huddled together on a branch and some would hop restlessly, mimicking the twitters of other birds nearby. ‘Well at least you are still very receptive to sounds,’ Melian concluded while she walked up and down the netted walls to seek entrance.

‘ _What_ are you doing here?’

Turning around, Melian faced an angered Sívilwë who observed her with a haughty look, standing there tall and strong. ‘Well met Sívilwë.’

Her hostess had a quick mind, ‘Well you look clearly rested, did you enjoy your stay in Lórien?’

‘That I did. It was great to be with friends of old again.’ She replied and saw how Sívilwë’s pose shifted slightly. ‘Are you the one Aiwendil spoke about? Have I not been clear enough?’

‘Do not fault him for my determination. On the road towards Lorien you spoke of your work here. Could it be of any harm for me to go and see it for myself?’

‘Why? Why the Nightingales? I only spoke of my raptors and some other species, yet not about them.’ Sívilwë countered and Melian could not blame her.

‘During my stay in Lórien I found out that the Nightingales no longer sing…’

‘So you decided that you can teach them. Unless you are Melian yourself or her famed daughter who almost charmed Manwë pants off, I will not let anyone, not even Yavanna herself close to those few who have survived.’ Sívilwë stepped forward, no longer hiding her anger.

Yet Melian did not move and simply replied: ‘Do you not know then?’

‘What?’

Then Melian spread her arms slowly and spoke to the birds around her to hold their song and started to sing.

~*~

It was nearly a month later when Sívilwë helped Melian to unload the cage with two Nightingales from her carriage. With the necessary effort Melian had declined her friend’s offer to stay at her manor, knowing all too well that her heart was here in Lorien. The first days, Sívilwë had let her sit for hours in the nightingale’s aviary, singing small tunes and allowing those few to grow accustomed to her presence. Sívilwë had kept a respectful distance, but always remained near and had shared in the ultimate joy when one of the males picked up one of her songs. Then news had spread quickly – undoubtly Aiwendil’s doing – that Melian finally had returned to Aman. Some of the Valar watched her at work, padding Sívilwë on her shoulder for her work, and the unpretentious falconer reminded them that this had not been one of her designs. Offers were then made to Melian to return to Valimar, to return to the Valarin court and allow others to enjoy her presence there. As politely as possible, she had declined the offers knowing that there was another important matter to settle first before she even would contemplate to take up her seat amongst the Maiar.

Estë. Patient Estë.

‘Take care,’ Sívilwë hugged her tight and took a step backwards. ‘I soon hope that more of their song will spread over Aman.’

‘I still can’t believe you allowed Aiwendil a pair.’ Melian smiled fondly, remembering the stunned look upon her friend’s face.

‘Well it will keep the Valar away from my grounds, that’s for sure.’ Sívilwë laughed merrily and knelt down to say goodbye to the caged nightingales. ‘Be well feathery friends; heal those you love with your song.’

As her friend rose, their eyes met. ‘I wish the same for you Melian.’

‘You are far too wise, young one. Be well.’ Melian smiled.

‘I will bring a new couple in a fortnight.’ Sívilwë took up the reigns and climbed aboard the carriage. Melian lifted the cage and stepped towards the gate so that her friend could turn around for her journey home. So much had been said already, the past days they had spent often in conversation about their past and hardships.

Melian raised her hand in farewell and watched how her friend disappeared from sight. Go to her. It was such an easy assignment and Melian felt unsure if Estë wanted to talk after last time. The Valier had not come to the falconer’s manor like others had, nor had her spouse.

Suddenly one of the birds crashed into the latticed frame of the carrier. Kneeling down, Melian sank to the ground and opened the small door. The nightingale crashed out of the gate, flew around and landed, distressed, on the nearby basin. There it plunged its elegant beak to drink from the water as if the distress shortly before never happened. ‘Silly bird.’

‘That I have to find you here like the first time we met.’

Melian looked up and met Estë’s eyes, yet said nothing in return.

‘You seemed such a young girl then, with your dress pooled around you, bathing in Telperion’s waxing light and trying to coax one of the birds here to come closer. I always wondered why one of Yavanna’s people ended up here and it took me long before I realised the appeal of my spouse’s garden for songbirds like them.’ The Valier’s voice seemed fragile and carried a wistful tone.

‘I was just sent here to deliver a package that I do remember.’ Melian answered, ‘I simply never left. Not until a long time passed and you asked me to become your consort beside him.’

‘Yes. I know. I simply wanted to add more meaning to what we had. I understand now that I moved too fast and too soon.’ Estë confessed, ‘Yet I cannot understand the offense.’

Melian leaned towards the cage and offered the remaining bird her finger. It hesitated briefly; cocking its head suspiciously at first but finally gave in to the offer of freedom. ‘I did not need to be honoured so. I was fine with how things were, choosing myself when to accept your invitation to spend the night or those blissful spur of the moment meetings.’

Estë opened her mouth in reply, and closed it quickly as if she did not want to discuss this. ‘You are much like them.’ She finally replied.

‘Perhaps, after all I did lure my mate into my thrall with a song.’ Melian smiled at the memory of her handsome husband. ‘And I lost him to a different thrall.’

‘And no you no longer have to wander in solace and pain. For long I felt confused as to why you left so suddenly. I consulted my sisters. Niënna confided to me that true love never dies, it will continue within me biding its time as long as I nourish it. Have I held onto it in vain?’

‘I… this is a rather overwhelming question,’ Melian answered at length. ‘Yet, if there is one thing I did learn the past weeks is that hope, but also love, can be restored if the intent is true. Is your intent true?’

‘Ai, Melian, my love. It has always been so!’ She reached out with both her hands and offered them to the Maia. The decision was hers to make now. Melian accepted her lover's gesture and leaned towards her, her face neared Estë’s.  With widened eyes, the Valier stared at her as she sat there silently, and a tear welled up in her eye.

It was true love, a different one, but nonetheless pure and meant to be, Melian realised. 'I should never have doubted your intent, my love and I hope you can forgive me for the hurts I have caused you. Yet, you must realise that I will never again cleave onto another. If you accept my tokens of the love I can give you instead, only then again may you call me yours.'

'I cannot love you otherwise, Melian. That much I know now. Some life lessons come at a cost, do they not?'

Melian nodded, and took Estë's hands in hers to pull her closer. It felt so familiar, to be so close to her again. It was as if she had never left this place, her journey and life in Beleriand a mere dream. Yet it was not and there was much she had left behind now.

'I know. I so know.' Melian answered and caressed her lover's face. The tear finally sprung and she caught it, wiping it away as gently as she could. Then she ran her hands through Estë's long tresses, tucking it behind her ears, before finally capturing her lips for a kiss.

Her lips were warm and welcoming, and Melian felt her head spinning with desire as she felt the tip of her tongue against Estë’s lips caressing them teasingly. It was the start of something she wanted and she slowly opened her mouth for more, drawing out the sensation of what would follow next.

She couldn't tell how long their kiss lasted and it wasn't as long as she would have liked. Estë released her mouth, pulling away just enough to look into her eyes and smile. It was not enough for her, Melian decided, and started to place gentle kisses on her nose, then her cheek and finally across her jaw while placing her other hand on her lover's neck, holding her close. Boldly Melian lowered her hand from Estë’s neck to her collarbone where her fingers brushed aside the grey satin of Estë's dress. There she waited, drawing out the anticipation of what could follow next.

'Melian…' Estë murmured, almost breathless.

'Yes?'

'Will you come with me to Lórellin?' she whispered.

Melian nodded, her eyes shining.

Without saying a word they rose, holding each other's hands, and their eyes met. It was then  the nightingales burst into song as if they wanted to serenade the long lost love that would finally be reclaimed at last.


End file.
